


The Rabbit Keeps Running

by utsushiame



Category: NG (Visual Novel)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Character Study, Feelings Realization, Idiots in Love, Mild Spoilers, Multi, Post-Canon, Singing, akira tries to understand emotions that aren't Angery and Punch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21649231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/utsushiame/pseuds/utsushiame
Summary: Wander Rabbits means something different to each who sings it, and each who sings it means something different to Akira.
Relationships: Amanome Seiji/Kijima Akira, Hazuki Kaoru/Kijima Akira, Kijima Ami & Kijima Akira
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	The Rabbit Keeps Running

**Author's Note:**

> Got hit with inspiration suddenly, so here's another short piece. ✏️🎶

Akira Kijima was many things, but no-one would ever claim that he was in-tune with his emotions. He hadn't been raised in an environment that encouraged introspection, and he had instead been taught to move his feelings aside and focus only on the here and now. He was like many teenage boys in that regard, but Akira took it to an extreme that intimidated many, and left even his close relations surprised when he was able and willing to express himself.

But the emotions were still _there_ , in need of unpacking and processing, and so Akira tried his best to sift through them.

When he heard Wander Rabbits emit from his mobile- or an instrumental, 8-bit version of it at least- Akira didn't feel much. It had once disconcerted him, an unfamiliar tune sounding from an object that he carried with him in his everyday life, but over time he'd grown used to it. It was adaptation, a process he was both familiar with and understood the merits of, so he let it happen.

At times the chipper beat would, oxymoronically, dredge up painful memories of spirits, corpses, and fighting for his life against an otherworldly malevolence. Sometimes his phone would ring and he would remember his aunt collapsing into a coma while he was on the phone to her. Or he would remember the worry in her voice when she called him asking about Ami, who had just been whisked away by a spirit.

At those times, Akira considered changing his ringtone. Or, at the very least, learning _how_ to change it. He was a practical person, _to a fault_ some would claim, and hadn't wasted time learning any of the phone’s frivolous functions.

_“Does it have Snake?” Ami had once asked of him._

_“…Does it have a snake?” Akira had paraphrased, unable to comprehend the blank stare Ami had given him in response._

So he'd thought about getting rid of the song. But sometimes it would ring when he was with Ami, and every time she would follow the tune with bright eyes and a small smile. He would remember her expression when one of his gruesome memories arose, and he'd decide that it was okay to keep it a little longer.

When he heard Ami sing Wander Rabbits, he felt nostalgic for a memory that didn't exist. Kakuya aside, Ami was able to experience the sort of mundane, blandly pleasant childhood that Akira had been bereft of. Neither he or his mother had felt like singing while they'd been drowning in bills; no, their soundtrack had been the growling of their empty stomachs, and the never-ending arguments from their unsavoury neighbours.

Could there have been a different world where Akira’s mother lulled him to sleep with a gentle melody? When Akira tried to remember her voice, he would inevitably recall the persistent, bone-rattling coughing fits that had plagued her in her last year. He'd give up trying to remember beyond that.

But maybe it was a memory that he didn't need. When he looked down at Ami humming to herself, hand wrapped in his and feet skipping along the pavement, Akira realised that, in this different world, he may never have heard Ami singing to herself like that. Maybe he'd have his mother, but he'd lose his sister for it.

In that sense, if Akira had to describe how he felt about Ami’s rendition of the song, he would say that he was grateful.

When he heard Momo Kuruse sing Wander Rabbits, Akira couldn't concentrate. The disconnect between the professional, doll-like idol and the occult nut that he knew was too strong. Rather than appreciate her voice, Akira would sift through her lyrics for all the differences and similarities to the girl he knew, and he'd find it lacking. Catchy, but shallow.

When he heard it from Hazuki instead, it was a different matter. When Akira heard her sing, it wasn't for an audience of fans, adoring not her but her persona: she was singing for herself, Kaoru Hazuki. She wasn't so focused on hitting the right notes and enunciating each word correctly, though her performance was still great regardless. The difference was like night and day, and Akira found himself intrigued by it.

He knew that Hazuki wasn't all that passionate about being an idol, but that she loved Momo regardless, and she loved the songs that she sang. She had told Akira that the lyrics had been written by someone else, but looking at her sing, Akira struggled to believe her. The words meant something to Hazuki: Akira didn't know what, but he could see it in the way her expression lifted and swayed along with the song, and how her voice would dip and her lips would curl around certain words.

If Akira closed his eyes, then he could almost find himself being swept along in the feelings that he didn't understand, but nevertheless experienced almost as clearly as if they were his own. He'd never felt as close to Hazuki as he did in those moments, never felt that level of intimacy, both alien and alluring. He'd faced down murderous horrors and brutes twice his size, and yet it was this closeness to Hazuki that he felt intimidated by the most.

Then the song would come to an end, and Hazuki would flush, apologising for getting carried away. Akira would wave her off, willing his heart to slow down and his head to return from the clouds it'd drifted off into. He didn't like Hazuki’s rendition for the professional quality, but for how it drew them closer together in a way that Akira struggled with otherwise.

When he heard Amanome sing Wander Rabbits, it was a different story. He was already as close to Amanome as he felt he could be, their relationship having weathered through ten years and only coming out stronger. And yet, when Amanome sang, it was a reminder to Akira that his best friend was always full of surprises. Amanome was the social expert, not him, and knew better than Akira that there were still more boundaries to be crossed.

Amanome was a good singer. Akira had only heard snippets of his singing voice before- humming to himself in class, or goading on Akira in an infuriatingly sing-song tone- but he only realised now that Amanome could hold a tune surprisingly well for an amateur. And while Akira knew better than anyone else not to be lured in by Amanome’s soft voice and gentle looks, even he could forget for a second that the boy with the melodic voice nursed a coal-black heart.

It was because of that disparity that, in contrast to Hazuki, Akira couldn't take his eyes off Amanome. The song held no special meaning for Amanome- it was one he liked listening to, nothing more- but his faraway gaze and serene smile were as much a magnet as Hazuki’s impassioned performance had been. This wasn't his true self, but a side of him that Akira hadn't been privy to until Wander Rabbits had hopped along.

Akira wondered if anyone else had seen this side of Amanome- not even that, if they'd seen as many sides to him as Akira had. Akira had entrusted Amanome with his violent, angry impulses, and Amanome in turn had trusted him with his unguarded happiness. The thought made Akira’s heart leap into his throat.

When he was finished, Amanome didn't apologise- of course he didn't- but simply stepped down from his daydream, turning to his friend with a smile that was much more familiar. Akira blinked, turned away, and they started to chatter as if nothing had happened, just two friends with an unspoken experience between them.

Those two, Hazuki and Amanome, Akira couldn't say definitively how he felt when he heard them sing. The feelings were there in his stomach, but he lacked the words- the experience- to say with certainty what those feelings were. No matter how much he mulled them over, the answer danced just out of his grasp.

But he was getting better at putting words to the things that he felt, slowly but steadily. More pieces fell into place the older that he got, and the more that he socialised with his friends and family, old and new.

The puzzle would remain unsolved for now, but- much like the rabbit- Akira wouldn't give up the chase.


End file.
